


(there must be) something to it

by evanelric



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Genderswap, Girl!Stiles, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Uncircumcised Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanelric/pseuds/evanelric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She’d already known that Peter favors boxer briefs when he bothers with underwear at all, and that he dresses to the left, but now she knows how his breath stutters when she grips him through the cotton and what the well-placed application of her fingernails to his shoulderblades can do when she moves her thigh just so between his. She’s gonna chalk this one up as a win.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(there must be) something to it

Stiles is not really sure how good she is at this kissing thing, but she’s really enjoying the way Peter’s tongue is sliding against her own. Peter’s hands are hot on her jaw and her back, even through her t-shirt, and his body is a delicious line of pressure and heat against her torso. She’d always kinda laughed at romance novels when they talked about heroines pressing their heaving bosoms against their lover’s rock-hard chest, but she’s starting to think maybe they weren’t just making crap up.

She moves her hands from Peter’s shoulders to cross her wrists behind his neck and presses herself even closer to him, breaking the kiss to gasp because apparently she should have been paying more attention to breathing and less to the way Peter is touching her. Peter isn’t deterred, though, and merely trails kisses down her chin to the side of her neck, a hand threading back into her hair to cradle her head as she tilts it to give him better access.

She’s pretty sure he’s just kissing her and not giving her a hickey (she gave herself one, once, as an experiment, just to see how the process worked. Mostly it had been kind of boring and it stung a bit, but she’s heard a lot to do with sex depends on the whole cooperative aspect of it, so she’s still open to the possibility) but she’s really less concerned about possible lovebites and more about getting Peter’s tongue back in her mouth.

Apparently the universe is plotting with her for once because the breathy _Peter_ she exhales as she presses impossibly closer to him as he sets his teeth against her collarbone is just the ticket. Eventually she stops having to think about making sure she breathes through her nose and she can just concentrate on what they’re doing.

She loses herself in the way their mouths are moving and the way Peter’s hands move on her clothed skin. She tries to touch him the same way but doesn’t really see how she can even come close to making him feel as awesome and undone as he’s making her feel. One of them lets out a needy whimper when Peter’s fingers slip under the hem of Stiles’ shirt to skim along her hips. Then Peter pulls her close and rocks his hips into hers and there’s that pleading noise again. It can’t be Peter, because he’s groaning, edging on a growl, which means it must be _Stiles_ who’s whimpering. The realisation makes her gasp and come back to herself, suddenly self-conscious. Peter just keeps holding her close and Stiles puts paid to all the fantasies she’s had of wiping that smirk off his stupid gorgeous smug face. So yeah, kissing is definitely something Stiles is down with.

****

It doesn’t really take long for Stiles to, well, not get _tired_ of making out, per se, but to want to expand their repertoire. If she fingers herself into a sobbing mess most nights thinking of all the ways Peter has touched her and some ways he hasn’t yet but she would really like him to then she can only imagine what Peter is going through. And from the way they always end up plastered together with Stiles wrapped around Peter like she can crawl inside him and stay there forever it isn’t really a great stretch of the imagination, even through the varying layers of clothing.

She’s managed to negotiate shirts off (and bras in her case), which, wow, she had no idea nipples were so awesome until Peter set his teeth to hers, but every time she does more than accidentally-on-purpose brush (or grind, but who’s paying attention) against Peter’s cock he pins her wrists to whatever surface they’re making out on (which had been kind of weird that time she’d straddled him in the desk chair, but overall is probably way more of a turn-on than Peter had meant it to be).

So she figures that maybe if she comes out and raises the idea before she starts getting all moan-y and stuttering that Peter might take her seriously instead of just thinking she’s getting caught up in the moment. You’d think that he wouldn’t have hangups once he got over the part where she’s 17 and he’s 36, but apparently not. She waits until he’s perched carefully on her windowsill, one hand braced on the bottom of the raised window above his head and one foot halfway toward the floor before she unsubtly blurts out, “I really wanna suck your cock.”

Peter, admirably, does not fall face-first to the floor, but he does manage to look kind of shocked. Stiles is completely gobsmacked, though, because she had really intended to go about this in a mature, adult fashion (there may have been a powerpoint presentation prepared) and instead she sees him crawling into her room all lithe, predatory grace and just blurts that out. She’s kind of mortified, but this is pretty much how her life has always gone, so she takes the moment and runs with it, hoping that by the time Peter catches up he’ll give in out of weariness and/or confusion. It’s worked pretty well on basically everyone else in her life, and she’s hoping it continues to be the case with Peter.

She doesn’t really expect Peter to gently place a finger to her lips and calmly and rationally discuss the issue (and yeah, those are the adjectives she’s gonna go with even though she feels like she’s whining most of the time), but she’s been reading up on this stuff and pretty much everything that looks legit talks about becoming comfortable with your partner’s body and being comfortable with your own and orgasms are nice but not necessary.

Peter counters with tragically rational arguments about _more_ not necessarily meaning everything and pacing themselves and emphasising the whole ~ _becoming comfortable_ ~ part of Stiles’ own argument, which, not even cool, but then he kisses her and they kind of melt into each other, so Stiles is willing to compromise with underwear makeouts for the time being.

She’d already known that Peter favors boxer briefs when he bothers with underwear at all, and that he dresses to the left, but now she knows how his breath stutters when she grips him through the cotton and how he likes it when she licks not into but around the rim of his bellybutton and what the well-placed application of her fingernails to his shoulderblades can do when she moves her thigh just so between his. She’s gonna chalk this one up as a win.

****

When she finally manages to get Peter naked it’s definitely tempered by the fact that she herself is also naked. And it’s not even that she’s ashamed of her body, not really. She just knows that well, Peter is pretty fucking fit, especially considering the fact that he spent most of the last decade in a coma and is closer to 40 than 30, and she’s also aware that she’s not really gorgeous. She’s seen all the pornograpic artsy things about how women’s bodies are all different, et cetera, but she still kinda worries. It doesn’t even make sense, because it’s not like her underwear had really been concealing much, and it’s not like Peter is even looking at her crotch, although he kind of is, but it’s more a strangely reverential whole package gaze, which, wow, what even.

But then Peter is stepping toward her and he’s tipping her chin up into a kiss and she falls into it, and it’s soft and slow and sweet and she pretty much forgets that they’re both naked and kissing until he breaks the kiss and she realises she’s kind of plastered against him and his naked erection is pressed against her abdomen. And, hey, that’s a lot different from a cloth-covered erection.

But Stiles still has visions of getting Peter off in her head, and if she’s completely honest it’s at least as much about how awesome it’ll feel to know that she made him come as it is about actually doing it, if not more so. So she presses another kiss to Peter’s lips and draws back even as he tries to follow her mouth. She trails her hand pretty blatantly down his torso, resting her forehead on his shoulder so she can watch what she’s doing. She stops with her hand on his abs, trailing her thumb through his happy trail.

“Can I?” she whispers. Peter’s hands tighten just a bit on her waist, and she’s already a little giddy. The _yes_ is still slithering out of his mouth when Stiles trails her fingers to the base of Peter’s erection and then back up to the tip.

She knew he was uncut (it’s not really like werewolves are religious or born in hospitals, so why would they be circumcised, really), but this is the first time she’s really had the opportunity to see what that means. She’s seen uncut cocks before, because the internet exists and she has a (sometimes more than) healthy amount of curiosity, but theoretical and practical knowledge and so on. Peter’s cock curves upward just a bit, and while he’s definitely still got his foreskin it doesn’t completely envelope the head of his cock or anything. Visually it’s pretty close to the stuff she’s seen in porn, but as she grips him Stiles can feel the extra leeway the foreskin gives. She holds him like that for a moment, brushing her thumb softly up and down the shaft to feel the way the skin moves as Peter holds himself still, barely breathing. Stiles feels pretty ridiculous that she can make Peter like this when he can eviscerate men twice her size without even breaking a sweat.

She brings her head up and presses a kiss to the underside of Peter’s jaw, grabbing his hands and pulling him gently to sit with her on the bed. She kisses him again and his hands trail over her nipples and under her breasts, around her ribs to cup her ass and pull her into his lap, enough for their chests to brush but not enough to touch any farther down, for which Stiles is kind of grateful once she notices. Eager she may be, but not really ready for the whole shebang yet.

She strokes a thumb down his jaw (it may or may not deliberately be the same thumb she stroked along his cock moments before) and draws back from the kiss, hoping that the little bit of embarrassment she’s still feeling won’t make her any redder than her normal arousal flush when she grabs Peter’s hand with her own and brings it down to his cock between them.

“Tell me what you like,” she murmurs against his lips.

“Stiles, you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes back at her.

Because she’s Stiles she whispers back, “That’s why you should show me.”

Peter chuckles and pecks her on the lips before bringing her hand up to kiss as well. He grabs the lube she so thoughtfully placed on her pillow earlier and cups a hand beneath both of Stiles’ before drizzling some onto them. She immediately rubs her palms together because while there is a time and a place for cold lube (at least in her book) she’s pretty sure their first handjob isn’t it. The almost-laugh Peter breathes out is a pretty good indication she’s right. And it might not be the most romantic thing for Stiles to quirk her eyebrow and hold her hands out to the sides, palm up, in a pretty unmistakable _what now?_ gesture, but apparently Peter has a thing for Stiles and he knows she’s kind of goofy all the time, so she figures he’ll deal, especially as he’s about to get a handjob. Also the whole part where he has a thing for her.

He grabs her around her right wrist and brings it down, and a quick glance tells Stiles that his gaze is pretty much locked on the approach her hand is making to his cock. He lets her wrist go and folds his fingers around hers just enough to close her hand around the base.

“Here. Slow and loose at first, to smooth the way,” and he’s using his fingertips on the back of her hand to guide the motion up and down his cock. Stiles is breathing carefully, kind of entranced, and realises she’s holding her other lube-covered hand out in the middle of nowhere. She makes a vague motion toward where their hands are moving together, because waste not, want not, right? Or at least not have a hand uselessly slathered in lube or have to awkwardly try to wipe it off on the bedspread when she has better things to focus on.

Peter’s eyes are still glued to the ring of her fingers moving on his cock, so she makes an executive decision and draws her right hand high enough that she can wrap her left hand in its place before removing her right hand entirely. Stiles works her hand up and down until she’s relatively convinced she’ll leave more lube on Peter’s cock than was on her hand when she started, then replaces her left hand again with her right.

Peter’s eyes are hooded now, and he’s leaning back on one arm, the hand that had been guiding hers resting on her thigh where it’s splayed over Peter’s. She continues the easy motion he set initially for a few more strokes.

“And now...?” she prompts, because she’s becoming convinced that Peter might be happy to just sit there watching her hand, but she kind of really wants to make him come undone.

“Now, firmer,” and she tightens her grip a bit and continues stroking, faltering just a bit when his fingers close over hers, closing her fist a bit more. She feels a muscle in his thigh jump beneath hers. “ _Firmer_ ,” he says. Stiles is torn between wanting to watch her hand and him watching her hand, but then he looks up and catches her gaze. His pupils are a little blown, so she decides to go with door number three and kisses Peter instead, although most of her attention is on the way her fist is moving up and down Peter’s cock. It’s hot and slick and she thinks she can feel his heartbeat, but can’t tell if that’s just the pounding of her own pulse in her head.

“And at the top, move your thumb like _this_ ” and he brushes his thumb just below the head of his cock, breath hitching in the middle. Stiles is biting her lip now, switching her gaze between the flesh sliding through her grip and Peter’s face. His face is a little scrunched up, and he’s got a pretty good flush going himself, pink running down his throat and chest, and she’s a little surprised to find her other hand suddenly splayed there, carding through the hair there and rubbing across a nipple. She’s not sure if it was that or if she inadvertently did something awesome to Peter’s cock while her attention was diverted, but Peter moans out her name in a way he never has before that makes her throb with want.

“So was that for this?” Stiles brushes over Peter’s nipple again to no avail. “...Or something else? Cause I’d really like to hear it again.” Peter moans again, a little brokenly, and while it’s awesome it’s not the same, not like it was pulled from the depths of Peter’s chest without his knowledge or consent. Stiles keeps working her other hand, trying to figure out what it was she did, when Peter grabs the hand she’s been running over his chest and moves it down, down past his cock to his balls. When her fingers make contact he hand on a bible whimpers and drops her hand like he’s been scalded, clenching his eyes shut. Stiles stutters in the rhythm of her stroking, carefully cradling Peter’s balls in her other hand and now she understands what it meant when stories talked about rolling a man’s balls in your hand.

Suddenly Peter sits up enough to crash their mouths together, a brief press of lips before he’s just breathing _Stiles Stiles Stiles_ over again as his hips jerk upward into her fist and he’s coming all over her hands and his own thighs and stomach. Stiles is a little disappointed she didn’t get to see him come, or his face when he did, but she can feel the way his breathing is labored as he slumps down so his face is pressed into the curve of her neck into her shoulder as he gently grips her wrist, stilling her movement.

“Too much,” he manages to breathe into her collarbone. Stiles is pretty freaking thrilled right now. She just made Peter come, and it’s not like she has a lot of (any) experience with this, but she’s pretty proud that he’s kind of just wrapped himself up in her and can’t seem to do much more than breathe wetly into her clavicle and press lazy kisses there every once in a while as his hands trail up and down her sides on just this side of ticklish. She’s pretty awesome, okay.

And well, she’s still kinda curious, so she brings her hand up behind Peter’s back where he’s slumped against her to her mouth and licks at the side of it. She pretty much decides that anyone who says that come tastes good is mentally disturbed, because it really doesn’t, but if a blowjob will do to Peter what a handjob just did then tasting jizz is a price she will gladly pay. And from all the things she’s read apparently those are even more awesome for the receiver, so. Mission accepted, if postponed to some later date when she hasn’t fondled Peter’s brains all over her bed.

Peter, meanwhile, has apparently recovered his breath and is kind of really still. Stiles would say dangerously so, but the only real danger she’s in from Peter these days is of being a little bit ravaged, and as recent events would suggest she’s pretty okay with that. So she goes still right back, with her hand awkwardly held over Peter’s shoulder a few inches in front of her face while his breath kinda mists down her chest, and then she pulls the arm to the side and down suspiciously fast as Peter raises his torso slowly. It probably shouldn’t do the things it does to her that his eyes are still red and his teeth are a bit sharper than they generally are.

“Stiles.” Peter has this way of making her name both a question and a statement that she usually kind of hates because it’s so vague, but sitting here in her bed, naked in her lap with his come all over them she kind of really can’t be bothered. So she brings her hand back up and licks it again; a nice, hearty swipe of the tongue this time, not the experimental little taste from before. She’s still not used to the bitterness, so she doesn’t quite manage to school her features to be impassive, or even impish, but it does the trick and Peter is holding her face still so he can lick into her mouth as if tasting himself there is the best thing that could have happened. Stiles is pretty sure she looks nearly as dazed as Peter when they stop, foreheads against each other and breathing heavily.

“Stiles,” and this one is more an exhalation that she’s only just now getting used to hearing, that means she’s done something really right and awesome, and she hopes she never really gets used to hearing it. And then her brain breaks when Peter follows it with “I want to taste you.” Because she had not really expected Peter to go down on her so soon after the commencement of mutual naked time, but she can’t really honestly say she’s averse to the idea. Peter must hear the stutter of her heart, though.

“Not if you don’t want to, we don’t have to if you’re not ready,” and he’s still cradling her face and looking into her eyes more earnestly than someone whose lap is covered with naked girl and jizz has a right to. And okay, yeah, she’s got some trepidations, because while Stiles is pretty familiar with her own fingers and a vibrator and knows how she likes things to run, oral sex is not really something she can have any familiarity with unless she decides to become a contortionist. Peter laughs.

“I uh, guess that was out loud, huh?” She’s used to this general scenario of word vomit and the particular audience of Peter that she can mostly slog on unhindered through this, but she can still feel the blush creep down her ears and neck. She wipes her sticky hands on the comforter to either side of their thighs and grabs Peter’s hands, bringing them down and holding them in hers. “I want you to, but, well, I am kinda nervous. Only so much exploring I can do on my own, you know?” She quirks one side of her mouth up self-deprecatingly. Peter kisses the tip of her nose, which causes Stiles to scrunch her face up.

“Then we’ll find out together,” Peter says, because sometimes he’s kind of stupidly perfect now that he’s not creeping on her and is pretty much allowed whatever he wants because these days it tends to fall pretty well in line with what Stiles wants as well. He runs his hands up her arms and back down again before grabbing Stiles around the waist and rolling them so she ends up laying on her back on the other side of the bed with Peter poised above her.

He kisses his way from her mouth down her neck, sucking a hickey at the top of her breast where it’s just too low to show even when she wears shirts that slip off one shoulder, using his hands to brace himself over her. This isn’t anything they haven’t done before, as long as Stiles doesn’t think about the naked part, and in short order she’s got her fingers twined through Peter’s hair as she arches her chest up into his mouth and throws a leg over his. One of Peter’s hands skims down her ribs to her thigh, thumb running back and forth in the crease where Stiles’ leg meets her abdomen.

Peter licks and nips his way across Stiles’ chest as he moves his hand down the inside of Stiles’ thigh, and it’s not like Peter hasn’t been pretty clearly broadcasting his intentions but Stiles still tenses when his fingers brush over her. Peter makes gentle shushing noises as he levers himself up the bed to kiss Stiles once more, stroking her hip reassuringly.

“You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like.” And again with the question statements. Stiles gets through half a thought about interrobangs before Peter’s brushing against her deliberately, trailing his fingers through the wetness from how much she liked getting Peter off. It’s just fingertips against her, and Peter’s lips and tongue and teeth trailing down her torso until with a final bite to her hipbone Peter spreads her thighs wider and puts one of Stiles’ legs over his shoulder. She looks down just in time to meet Peter’s eyes as he breathes a slow, hot breath over her and follows it up with a long lick. She throws her head back, squeezes her eyes shut and throws her arm over her mouth to muffle the ridiculous noises she knows she’s going to make. Peter licks her again, a little deeper this time, and she does make a noise.

“Let me hear you, Stiles,” Peter says as he runs a hand up the outside of her thigh, and presses a kiss to the inside. She whines a bit at that, but reaches down to grab the blankets with both hands as she glares at Peter.

“You’re cruel and I hate you.” His only response is to chuckle and lick her again, pressing close at the end to work his tongue back and forth over her clit. “I take it back,” Stiles gasps. “I’ll only hate you if you stop.” Peter hums his laughter and Stiles’ leg flexes where it’s draped over Peter’s shoulder.

This is so different from what she’s done to herself. The slick motion of Peter’s tongue into her and over her clit is way better than her fingers, but somehow not enough at the same time. It’s great, but she can tell she’s sitting at a steady thrum that’s more likely to trail off into nothing than get her off. Normally this is the point at which she’d bring in the vibrator and work herself open with the power off, but she’s got a much better alternative at hand. And if she makes a terrible pun in her head as she threads her fingers through Peter’s hair again he’ll never know.

“More, Peter,” and his mouth is moving back up to her clit as he carefully slips a finger into her, working it in and out slowly in time with his mouth. Stiles lets out a frustrated noise and presses her heel into Peter’s ribs. “Peter, please, my vibrator is bigger than your finger, I need more than that.”

Peter’s moan sparks one in Stiles that turns into a drawn out exhale as Peter adds a second finger and crooks them a bit as he moves them in and out. And this is what Stiles needed, more than she’d imagined even. No amount of imagination could have prepared her for this. As much as she loves kissing Peter and people tease her about her oral fixation, there is nothing in the world like Peter’s mouth on her clit, sucking and licking, while he opens her up on his fingers, thrusting a bit faster and angling them to find that spot that she only ever seems to be able to locate on the very best days.

Stiles suddenly realises she’s babbling and sobbing a little bit and most of it seems to be variations on “Oh my god, Peter.” Then suddenly everything snaps and her spine bows and she might (probably did) scream and Peter is still there, working his fingers and humming around her clit and usually Stiles isn’t good enough to make herself come again but this is definitely that same feeling rolling up and Peter does something amazing with his mouth that Stiles can’t even tell what is because she’s too busy shaking apart and sobbing through her second orgasm.

This time, though, it’s too much, and she tugs weakly at Peter’s hair, and he pulls away so slowly, like he’s sad to leave, and clearly Stiles has gone completely loopy from coming twice in rapid succession. Peter nuzzles into her shoulder again, and that’s no good because Peter did such a good job she wants to kiss him, so she squirms a bit.

“No, c’mere, kisses,” and Peter tastes like Stiles, and she can almost see why Peter licked his way into her mouth so thoroughly when she had his come on her tongue, because it’s kind of heady, but still not exactly pleasant. Fair’s fair though, and it’s totally worth it.

Overall, Stiles decides as she wraps herself around Peter, she’s pretty pleased with how real life is compared to the stuff she’s read. It’s not all roses, but there’s Peter and her and that’s pretty awesome all by itself.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to TheShadowPanther for her invaluable help beta-ing this piece of ridiculousness~


End file.
